


unannounced, like you'd expect it

by ODed_on_jingle_jangle



Series: snakes to a mongoose [3]
Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Abandonment, Aftermath of Violence, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Arguing, Complicated Relationships, Gen, Hospitals, Injury, Minor Betty Cooper/Jughead Jones, Mother-Son Relationship, Painkillers, Season/Series 02, Strained Relationships, Vomiting, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-06
Updated: 2019-05-06
Packaged: 2020-02-27 04:42:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18731815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ODed_on_jingle_jangle/pseuds/ODed_on_jingle_jangle
Summary: Gladys hums and cups his cheek in her hand, delicately rubbing her thumb under the eggplant crescent of his black eye. Jughead watches her calmly, leans into her touch so subtly it’s almost imperceptible.“This isn’t the reunion I was hoping for,” she admits.“Me, either. I messed up, Mom."“People mess up, Jug. It’s life.” Gladys drops her hand but not unkindly.





	unannounced, like you'd expect it

**Author's Note:**

> Um, where to start? 
> 
> Okay, so I started a one-shot collection like, last year, canon divergent of (and post) s2e21. And I was thinking at the time I was going to continue it, then I moved, changed schools, and got a new job. Now boom-ba-boom, it's like a year later and not only has s3 aired, but it's almost over! Wow, time flies when you're busy. 
> 
> But I'm glad I waited before I added any more, because I love the heck out of Gladys Jones and Gina Gershon is so damn talented. Apparently this is an unpopular opinion in fandom, y'all seem to want Gladys to burn at the stake and I'm sitting here shaking my head. 
> 
> Anyway, here we are, and I'm trying my hand at Gladys PoV. The following is dialogue-heavy, I should note now that this collection is again, more like a related one-shot collection than an actual story. There will be one more part after it bout Betty, but I don't know if I'll do anymore after that. And it doesn't matter either way, I doubt anyone is still following this nor wants to read an author's note this long, but frankly, I hardly ever do what people want. Nor do I particularly care what other people want when it comes to my hobbies. 
> 
> Very brief reference to rape, blink-and-miss-it. Couldn't corroborate with an appropriate tag, so I'm warning for it here.

Gladys goes on autopilot the moment she hangs up the phone and the time in between that and the arrival at the destination of her son’s hospital room is a blur of blown stop signs and curse words, dyed red with her rage.

Her whole body thrums with the urge to fly over the threshold but FP blocks her way. For a moment she’s taken aback, almost floored. Now, she and her wayward husband of a sort can push each other’s buttons and butt heads with all the diplomacy of a uncontrolled grease fire, but one thing they don’t do is keep each other from their kids.

“Looking to throw down, Forsythe?” she demands, eyes narrowing.

FP is undeterred by the threat, breathes a sigh through his nose as he stares at her levelly.

“Gladys, it’s three o’clock in the morning and he’s had a tough day. Post-op fever, bunch of lab coats speaking jargon at him when he’s high as a kite, godawful news about his girlfriend—“

Gladys holds a hand up to halt the excuses, voice sharpening. “Why would you call me if you weren’t going to let me see him? I need to see my son, FP, I swear to—“

FP rustles like a rattler on the defense, hissing out an exasperated sound that rings too familiar. “Of course you can see him, just don’t barge in like a—“

“Can you guys not?” calls an equally familiar, very worn voice. “Some people are trying to sleep.”

FP deflates and Gladys pushes past him, diving to her son’s bedside and grabbing him up in a frantic embrace. A little noise from him tells her she needs to be more gentle and with a twinge of guilt, she immediately relaxes her grip.

“Sorry, Jug.”

“S’okay, Mom.” He returns her hug with a feeble one-armed one, briefly nuzzling against her cheek.

Gladys isn’t normally a sap. But she’s been shaken since the call and knowing that this could’ve easily gone the other way, knowing that Jughead was a hairsbreadth away from not being here at all, makes her want to hold him forever. She nuzzles back and brushes her lips over his temple, sighing her relief into his hair.

Gladys doesn’t ever want to let go but she lets go anyway. As Jughead eases back, she studies his appearance. The kid gets his wit and his grit from her but his looks from his dad, no doubt. He's grown into the spitting image of FP and he’s been taller than her for a couple years now, but in the bed, he looks too small. The bandages, the casts, the tubes, the wires; they all seem to shrink him. The sight leaves her heart in her throat but her hands balled in fists.

Every fucker who hurt him is going to fry in Hell, Gladys will make sure of that if it’s the last thing she ever does.

“Where’s JB?” he asks, blinking slow.

“Dropped her off at the trailer.” Gladys glances to FP and he gives a nod of acknowledgement.

“Good,” Jughead mumbles. “Don’t want her to see me like this.”

Gladys scuffs the tile with the toe of her boot. “She ain’t squeamish, Jug.”

“I know, but I’m pretty fucked up…”

“Watch your mouth,” FP warns quietly.

“You let me say it earlier,” Jughead protests, arching a brow.

Gladys detects a bit of a slur and figures it must be painkillers.

“Yeah, you got one f-bomb freebie,” FP says, leaning back against the wall. “No more.”

Jughead frowns, resigned.

“How you feeling?” Gladys asks, idly feathering her fingers through his hair.

“Worried about Betty, worried about you too, Dad,” he glances to FP, then back to Gladys. “He’s been here since I got admitted. I keep telling him to go home.”

“I’m fine,” insists FP, pushing off the wall to stand straighter, like he thinks it’ll make him look less wiped.

“Well you smell like you could use a shower,” Gladys remarks, and he shoots her a scowl that’s all levels of done, but she pushes on anyway. “Go home, clean up, eat a sandwich, check on JB. I’ll stick around here.”

FP chews it on it, rubbing a hand over his face. His gaze meets Gladys’s and an understanding is passed between them.

“Alright,” he relents. “Anything you want me to bring you when I come back, Jug?”

“Uh…can I have actual clothes?” he asks, unhappily pinching the papery material of the hospital gown.

FP looks him up and down, eyes lingering on the chest tube.

“I could bring you my bathrobe,” he offers.

“I’ll take it," Jug agrees easily.

Gladys steps back to give FP more room as he leans over, giving Jughead a gentle pat on the shoulder. Between the dim lighting and her other priorities, this is the first time Gladys notices the bloodstains crusting on his shirt. With that, FP makes his way to the door and their eyes meet again. Gladys reassures him with a simple nod and his lips twitch with something civil. He ducks out and she’s left with her son and her anger, and the tick-tock of the clock on the wall.

“Did I wake you up?” she asks softly.

“Yeah,” Jughead answers. “But it’s okay. The nurses wake me up during rounds. And when you have a concussion people are supposed to wake you up periodically anyway.”

Gladys hums and cups his cheek in her hand, delicately rubbing her thumb under the eggplant crescent of his black eye. Jughead watches her calmly, leans into her touch so subtly it’s almost imperceptible.

“This isn’t the reunion I was hoping for,” she admits.

“Me, either. I messed up, Mom,” his teeth snag his lower lip, eyes wavering.

“People mess up, Jug. It’s life.” Gladys drops her hand but not unkindly.

“No, I should’ve known better. Hiram’s scum and Penny’s screwed me over before. I don’t know why I thought I could make a bargain. Everything fell apart. Now Betty’s hurt and it’s all my fault.”

“It’s not your—“

“Yes, it is,” he insists vehemently. “They beat her up because of me, because she’s important to me, no other reason. I wasn’t there to protect her and I haven’t had a chance to apologize, or even see her, because I can’t go anywhere and neither can she.”

He heaves a harsh exhale through clenched teeth. Gruffly rakes a hand through his hair in this expression of helpless frustration she knows too well.

Gladys wonders exactly how much he knows about Betty. FP only touched on it briefly when he filled her in of the larger consequences of the raid and of course, the Cooper girl was in the peripheral of her concerns. But Gladys does know she was found naked and that reveals more than enough. She is certain Jughead hasn’t been informed of that detail and she’s not going to be the one to tell him.

What she does tell him is,

“You’ll be back on your feet soon enough, kiddo. So will Betty if she’s anything like her mother.” Gladys breathes a low whistle. “Alice was a real battle axe back in the day.”

A breathtaking beaut of a battle axe too, with that wicked grin and mesmerizing mane of blonde bouncing against her leather clad shoulders. If FP hadn’t gotten to Alice first, Gladys might’ve made a move herself.

“On that note, gotta say I’m surprised to hear you went for Alice’s girl,” she goes on, in an attempt to steer the subject and calm him down. His heart monitor’s picked up the agitation and if Jug's condition takes a nosedive on her watch, FP will have her head.

“I always figured you’d end up with Archie.”

“What?” Jughead balks, brows up to his hairline.

“C’mon,” Gladys teases, flashing a grin. “You’ve been following that little goofball around since you were in pull-ups. You two were totally inseparable.”

Jughead snorts. “Okay, there is nothing _little_ about Archie anymore. One summer on his dad’s construction site and he comes out looking like he can bench press cars. We’re not exactly inseparable anymore, either.”

“Hit a rough patch?”

“Yeah. I mean, we’re good now…but a lot happened while you were gone.”

“I’m beginning to see that.”

He son’s stare is a level one, dark and smokey as cooling cinders.

“You were gone for a long time,” he says, not quite accusatory, not quite hurt.

“I missed you every minute,” she swears earnestly.

“I don’t believe that,” Jughead murmurs, sounding tired more than anything. “Wish I did, but I don’t.”

It stings more than Gladys expects it to. She’s nearly impelled to slap him for such offhand, casual cruelty, but doesn’t actually have it in her to strike. Not on a good day, never when he’s already injured.

“That’s not fair, Jug,” she says sharply.

“I called. You told me not to come.”

“The timing wasn’t right, there was a lot going on.”

“Well, there was a lot going on here too,” he scoffs.

“Yeah, and I didn’t know the half of it until after the fact!” Gladys throws her hands up.

“Just what have you been doing in Toledo?” it’s phrased like a question but it sounds like a challenge and Gladys isn’t having the sass.

“Watch your tone,” she warns.

“At least tell me you’re giving my sister a normal life,” he huffs, stubborn as ever. “Is JB in school? Does she have friends her own age? Do you take her to the zoo?”

“I do my best—“

“What’s that look like?” he cuts in, attitude like sparks flying off a jumper cable.

“Better than the job your father’s doing,” she snaps before she can stop herself, her own temper flaring. “Look where you are!”

Jughead pales, startled. Then he shakes his head, back and forth, tongue nervously swiping over his busted lip.

“No, no, don’t put this on Dad,” he says softly, almost pleading. “I’m the one who messed up, he didn’t have anything to do with this.”

Gladys privately disagrees, swallows to ensure she holds her tongue. There are certain understandings between her and FP. One being that they don’t drag each other in front of their children. They can get in each other’s shit sometimes and they both have the ammo to be really ugly about it when they do. But their kids don’t need to hear or see that ugliness, don’t need to feel like pawns for their parents to pit against each other.

Her son is in a gang and in the hospital and _oh,_ is she fuming. FP isn’t off the hook but that inevitable argument and mud-slinging of accusations will not take place in view of their kids.

“You dad loves you, he’d do anything for you,” she says evenly, a truth, another understanding between them, that the kids are always priority and both of them will do whatever they have to to ensure their needs are met. “I’m not under the impression he just up and let this happen.”

But he absolutely should’ve been more aware, should’ve been able to prevent it. And Jughead is too perceptive not to hear what hangs unspoken like a leaden storm cloud.

“Really, this was all me,” he insists. “My decision, my fuck up— don’t, don’t blame Dad.”

The hours of driving and jonesing for cigarettes she was too rattled to stop for are finally starting to catch up. She can feel a headache budding and rubs her temples to keep it at bay.

“Leave it be, Jug. It’s not your job to defend him.”

Jughead goes quiet for a moment, features twisting in discomfort.

“I’m gonna be sick,” he mumbles eventually.

“Don’t be overdramatic.” Gladys rolls her eyes and crosses her arms over her chest. “It’s not like I’m gonna rip his di—”

She breaks off as Jughead makes a hasty grab for the plastic emesis basin. Clumsily, fumbling, he snatches it from the bedside tray. For a heartbeat it just wobbles precariously in his hand, hovering under his chin. Then he hacks into it, a modest, syrupy stream of bile.

Oh, crap, he’s actually nauseous.

Gladys’s irritation quickly turns to worry. She flutters, lightly touching his shoulder.

“You okay?”

He blinks up at her, a stand of yellowy slop still dangling from his mouth.

“Uhm, yeah…”

“You sure? Should I get somebody?”

“Nah, I’m alright.” Belatedly, he notices the clinging strand and swipes it off with tissue. “Don’t know if it’s the meds or my head, but I get kinda queasy here and there. It passes.”

“Okay…”

“It passes, Mom, I’m fine,” Jughead promises, setting the basin aside. He gives a dismissive wave of the hand that’s probably supposed to be reassuring, but all Gladys can do is watch the IV tube sway with the motion.

“Lemme rinse that out for you,” she says, portraying an air of ease.

She takes the basin to the sink and rinses it out, somehow feeling dead on her feet and painfully awake at the same time. She’s not sure if she wants to sob or strangle someone. Well, maybe she mostly just wants to hold her son. The diluted bile swirls down the drain. Gladys turns the faucet off.

For a moment she doesn’t move, gulps the tangled mess of her emotions the way a snake swallows a too-fat rat whole. She returns the basin to the tray and plops heavily into a plastic chair.

“I don’t wanna fight, Jug.”

“I know,” he sighs, sounding threadbare as an old rug. “I don’t either. I’m glad you’re here.”

“I did take JB to the zoo,” she shares offhandedly. “Bout a month ago, as a reward for getting an good grade on her test.”

A small smile unfurls on Jughead’s lips, battered but beaming.

“I got pics. You wanna see?”

His gaze warms as he bobs his head, that smile even widening a bit.

Gladys pulls the chair as close as she can get it, fishing her phone out of her pocket and opening up the photo app.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not the best at titles, so yeah, no lying here, I got it from a song.
> 
> So, I am unclear on whether or not FP and Gladys are still married. Like? I was thinking they were but separated, but I feel like that's really ambiguous in canon. If it was ever mentioned at all, I missed it.


End file.
